


The Hand of a God

by Capucine



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Big Brothers, Danger, Gen, Harm to Children, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Mind Manipulation, Partial Mind Control, Peril, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the resident Kryptonians are taken over by something or someone? And what can Dick do about the violent kidnapping of the current Robin, the danger Batgirl and Batman are in, and for that matter, the rest of the world?</p><p>What happens when men like gods are let loose on the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno, man. I just made this? Kinda violent opening.

The blood wouldn’t have been more than Dick could handle if he didn’t know whose blood it was. And it wasn’t just the blood.

It was the scratch marks on walls. The dents in the lockers, the stains on the floor, the shredded remains of a towel. A bloody half footprint on the floor, violently smeared.

It was _knowing_.

And yet not knowing.

“Where is he?!” his voice came out frantic, and he realized his heart was pounding against his chest, like it would burst out. His hands were cold.

A stony-faced Green Lantern looked back at him. Stewart. He said, “We don’t know.”

And Dick could have scratched his own face off, his need to get to his brother nearly about to destroy him. He had to be terrified, if he was conscious--if he was alive.

He wouldn't have his tracker. He was taking a goddamn shower in what was supposed to be a safe space. He was supposed to be safe, even though Dick knew that there was almost never such a thing as safety. Complete safety was death.

"We'll find him," Black Canary's voice came, pained but trying to soothe. To lie him into not panicking.

She was probably wrong. And he had to tell himself not to think like that, to remember that the Justice League had its crop of fine detectives too—but that meant nothing to the black hole in his chest. He had to find his brother.

With Bruce gone on a mission, leaving him in charge, there was only him to make sure Tim was all right.

Barbara was with Bruce. They were with Superman and Wonder Woman. Dick’s mind wouldn’t summon the details of the mission, instead buzzing frantically to put together what had happened here. 

Bruce, Barbara, their mission, was irrelevant right now. They couldn’t help. 

“We have some limited footage. It seems like Tim managed to hit on the cameras—before they were destroyed.” Black Canary’s voice was solemn. “Do you want to see them?”

Her tone said it would hurt him badly. It also said she knew he would.

And she was right. Dick pulled up the files on his wrist computer, and the footage began.

Tim was in a towel. He could see him talking to Superboy, to Conner. There was something very tight in Conner’s posture, extremely tense—even aggressive. 

Tim’s voice came over clearly. “I don’t know why you feel that way, but we can talk about it—“

The sound of Tim hitting the locker almost shocked Dick. Hitting it definitely seemed to shock Tim, one hand holding up his towel and the other raised, gasping for breath. It had clearly been knocked out of his lungs.

Conner growled, “I’ve had it with your shit, Robin. Up to fucking here. You understand _that?_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Tim gasped out, “I’m sorry. I’ll stop it with the shit, I promise.”

He was clearly buying time, and trying to soothe the beast. Because there was no way in hell that he was going to win a fight, considering all he had on him was a towel, and Tim clearly knew that.

“Oh, really? Which shit?”

Conner’s condescending tone sounded foreign in his mouth. Not that he’d never been condescending ever, but it was acidic. It made little sense.

Especially towards Tim.

Dick could see Tim’s mind racing, trying to figure out what could be said. “Being a know it all, among other things,” he tried, and that was a common enough accusation.

It was a good guess.

It was wrong, Dick concluded with a flinch, as Conner had his hand on Tim’s throat, and both of Tim’s hands flew up to pull at it fruitlessly. “Stop bullshitting me. You know exactly what you did, and you’d better fucking apologize.”

Tim was obviously trying not to panic, but he clearly couldn’t breathe. His feet left the floor as Conner raised him by his neck, and his heels started hitting the lockers, the banging noise more than expressing the terror on his face.

Abruptly, Conner dropped him, and Tim took gasping, desperate breaths.

"So. Are you going to make it right or what?" Conner demanded, and Dick could almost feel the desperation radiating from Tim, the way he had no clue what he was supposed to make right. The way he had no idea what words to use.

And the towel had fallen off of him, but Tim didn't seem to be paying much mind. It was life or death. Dick knew that Tim was pretty shy, in that sense, but he knew better than to care right then.

"I...I..." Tim gasped, trying to come up with the words. "Look, maybe we should take this up with Nightwing; he's in charge of me, and respon--"

Dick flinched as Tim went flying, hit the lockers hard enough to dent, the cry one of pain and even shock. His arms wrapped around his middle, where Conner had kicked him.

"Bet you'd like him to be on your side, huh? Cause he'd side with you. The other Robin, he butted heads with--you, he's eager to let you be right. To feel like you're important. Guess he's got a hell of a survivor's guilt, huh?"

Tim let out a stuttering breath, and murmured, "Nightwing doesn't play favorites--"

"Like fuck he doesn't," Conner cut off sharply. He walked towards Tim, and Dick's heartbeat picked up frantically, even though he knew it was a recording and he couldn't change it. "Like fuck. Why else would he tell you about the cameras?"

The way Tim paled had Dick's stomach dropping. "There are no--"

"I can hear them, dumbass. They make the tiniest sonic kind of noise, and guess what? That means you turned them on. How about I turn them off? Or did you want to put on a show for Big Bro Nightwing?" Conner's face was in a sneer.

It didn't look normal at all. Not like the Conner Dick knew.

The look of fear on Tim's face was the last thing Dick saw before the cameras were cut out, a blur of black and red and blue as Conner took them out, and then nothing.

Dick choked back the horror in his throat, and said, "Something's wrong with Conner. Something's...it can't be him."

"DNA says it's him. That footage, though..." Black Canary was quiet.

Dick swallowed. "Where'd he go? Do we have any way of tracking him? The Martians? A tracker?"

"I've contacted J'onn. He's doing his best," Green Lantern replied. His mouth was set in a deep frown, a sure 'this is why kids shouldn't be here' kind of look. Not that he would say so.

Not now.

He'd already said as much to Batman at Jason's death.

"And M'gann?" Dick wanted literally everyone who could be on this.

"I'm getting the message to her now," Green Lantern responded. He was working fast.

"And I'm contacting Supergirl and Superman--I'm going to find out if they know what's going on," Black Canary said.

Dick nodded, quickly messaging Bruce. He had to know if Bruce had ever prepared Tim to face a Kryptonian, and anything they could use to track him--he'd taught Dick how to leave a trail. He probably taught Tim too. 

He'd better have.

The message didn't get an instant response.

"Superman has responded that he's unable to leave the mission to help, but it sounds like he needs to be talked down," Black Canary said, voice a little flatly disbelieving. "And Supergirl says that Conner has a temper and he meant no harm."

"Did you tell them about the _blood?_ " Stewart demanded, and Black Canary gave him a look.

"Yes. I was very clear about the violence."

Something really didn't sit right in Dick's stomach. Something was very wrong here.

And the message he was sent confirmed it, cold dread settling in his stomach.

_Cut lines--Ra BA ___

__It was their code and a shorthand._ _

__Cut lines meant cut contact._ _

__Ra meant Superman._ _

__And BA stood for Benedict Arnold, a Revolutionary War General who switched sides._ _

__Superman had gone rogue._ _

__And it all seemed to click into place for Dick._ _

__They were fucked._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick tries to narrow down why Tim was taken.
> 
> The answer doesn't set him at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphicness.

Finding Tim was still Dick’s number one priority, but it was no longer the League’s. Their focus was on apprehending all the Kryptonians immediately, and that put saving Tim just a notch further down the list. Because, according to them, more lives were at stake than just Tim’s.

Dick knew that much was true. 

What he also knew, though, was that another Robin was not dying on his watch.

He was pulling every resource he could, trying to get a location. Conner was not at the Kent farm or any of his usual hangouts or hideouts, which suggested some serious foul play. Someone outside involved in all of this.

He heard the news that Supergirl was in a firefight with such figures as Icon and Wonder Woman, who were close matches for her strength, if not always her speed and other abilities.

He kept tabs on that, on the chance that they could get Conner’s or Tim’s location out of her.

The blood on the walls wouldn’t disappear from behind his eyelids. It made him think of how he’d always envisioned Jason’s end, how he hadn’t been there but he _should have been_ , how he should have somehow prepared or protected Jason.

And he couldn’t think too hard about that now, because Tim was in mortal danger and he needed him to focus. Seconds could count.

He reviewed the footage more than he ever would have wanted to. He needed any clue he could get. He reviewed prior footage of Conner from the hideout itself, but he didn’t act out of the ordinary at all—until he wrenched open the locked doors of the showers and disappeared inside.

Dick watched the closed door, a side angle, for too long. He watched the doors and hoped to god he could at least see Tim be taken alive.

And the doors did slam open, finally, after too long to do anything but turn Dick’s gut.

He might throw up.

Tim hung so limply from Conner’s arm, perhaps not even conscious, covered in bruises and blood and no clothes—and then Conner turned him over, as if for the camera to see—and Dick could see clear tear tracks through the blood and grim obscuring Tim’s face.

And then Conner’s eyes met the camera, he smirked, and a flash of red was all that was left.

Nightwing swallowed down bile, and pulled back the video. Examined Tim so closely, desperately for a sign of life. He was ashen skinned, but that could easily only be blood loss, and he wasn’t moving, and his eyes were shut—but surely if he’d killed him, Conner wouldn’t take the body—

Slight. A slight rise and fall of the chest.

Dick almost collapsed in his chair from relief, and his eyes were stinging painfully.

He examined the footage again, for hints from Conner as to where he was going. Conner’s lips moved slightly, and he slowed it down, zoomed in, but his lip-reading only revealed something that made his blood boil.

‘got your brat, big man.’

He thought Big Man could mean either him or Batman, easily. He couldn’t think if there was anyone else Conner could mean.

Or whatever was messing with Conner could mean.

He could see Tim in the frozen frame, eyes shut, mouth partially open but battered and bloody as hell—if he was breathing, he was probably breathing through it, given the state of his nose.

He _was_ breathing, Dick reminded himself, he had seen the movement of his chest.

The look in Conner’s eyes was pure disdain, a sneer evident. Like he was rightfully punishing them, but they were all beneath him anyway. Which was not exactly how Conner would normally act, at all. It pointed more and more to a mind control sort of deal for him and the rest of his superpowered family.

Kara had been reported to be belligerent, perhaps, but not nearly so violent as Conner, so far. In fact, she had begun with flirtingly taunting Icon, who stolidly brushed it off and went to work. 

And then she flirted with Wonder Woman, making almost leering comments about her breasts and how much the armor showed.

Which was so entirely unlike Kara. Conner, in turn, was occasionally brusque, but Dick knew that he also had a serious soft spot for both small things and younger teammates. Both of which Tim had been to him.

Dick had contacted Flash, Kid Flash, Impulse, but the former two were being sent to deal with Superman, and Impulse was judged far too young to be involved here. Barry, his grandfather, had specifically benched Impulse out of fear of something similar happening to him.

In some ways, Dick doubted that would stop Bart 'Bad Decisions' Allen, but he wasn't about to try to wiggle around that one. He had to save Tim, and that meant doing whatever he could as quickly as he could, not trying to negotiate something that may or may not help.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him.

It was his civilian phone, he realized with, recognizing the ring tone that sounded vaguely like classical music on an electric guitar. He'd thought it was funny at the time.

"Dick, where the hell is Tim?!"

Stephanie Brown. Girlfriend to one Tim Drake and most definitely not a superhero. Not even aware Tim was Robin, despite Tim clearly itching to tell her.

"Oh, uh," Dick found he had to strain more than he thought he would to sound carefree. "He had to get his tonsils removed."

"Since last night?" Stephanie demanded, "My god, even Tim can't get sick that fast, not with tonsilitis! I mean, he gets sick an awful lot, but come on, you expect me to believe that?!"

"It was an injury. Stupid stuff, my idea," Dick smoothly followed it up, cursing himself for forgetting Steph's obsession with medical shit. Of course she would know that wasn't so easily possible.

"Tim has beautiful tonsils, and you'd better not have fucked them up that bad," Steph snapped, clearly not buying it.

"Stephanie, I have to go--" 

"Fuck that, what's happening? Today was super fucking important and he promised he'd show!"

"Uh, what was happening today, if I m--"

"Don't tell me, he didn't even mention it to you. Oh my god, that's such...Tim, why are you like this? Urgh." Steph sounded like she was smacking something. "He's graduating."

"From?" Dick asked, a little dumbfounded. She couldn't possibly mean _high school_ , Tim was so young, he couldn't have possibly--

"School? Oh my god, does he even talk to you _at all?_ What kind of family are you?"

Dick swallowed hard. What kind of family indeed? The kind where the younger ones ran a high risk of death, evidently. "I gotta go, Steph."

She started to protest, but he hung up. He didn't have time to try to wheedle Steph into being okay with an inexcusable absence, and he needed to find him.

He couldn't reach Babs or Bruce, and neither of them could rescue Tim, either. It was up to him.

It was like sifting through wet sand, trying to find more clues. He'd been over the shower room, the footage, Conner's room and things, everything...no trace.

Big Man.

Who would call Batman or him Big Man?

Not someone particularly couth, but not so vulgar as to call them 'bastard' or worse either. Someone feigning some polite behavior or even gentility, respectability. Not a gentleman criminal, of whom they had perhaps a couple, but someone powerful enough to pull this off and have respect.

That crossed a lot of people off the list.

The Joker would not refer to him or Batman as 'Big Man,' he was too insanely focused on being funny and creative, he supposed, and this was not what passed for Joker's MO.

Thank god.

The Riddler would be far more clever, more clue-dropping.

Catwoman was out of it long before, not the type to ever pull something like this.

Poison Ivy, maybe.

Harley Quinn, no.

Unless in cahoots with Ivy.

Braniac could pull this off, but why Big Man? Made no sense in this context.

Unless...unless the 'brat' wasn't Tim. If it was _Conner_ , if it was a sneer addressed at Superman, somehow, then perhaps it was intended to reach him. Perhaps somehow they all, the three of them, knew what was truly happening, but couldn't control it.

Hence the whisper, the quick-moving lips.

It wasn't at all a message for him or Batman. It was for Clark. It was 'look what I made him do.'

And that only sunk Dick's stomach like a plummeting boulder. That meant Tim didn't matter, that he wasn't important to this at all--and wasn't necessary to keep alive.

He hoped to god he was wrong, but it was looking like he might be right. So right, and yet he had never wanted to be wrong more.

Tim was in worse danger than he could have thought before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I was very happy to finish this one, cause I have been in a major funk. :) Yogurt and a tiny Tim Drake I picked up at work and the best BF ever have helped set that straight. And also being so sleep deprived that everything is funny. But eh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick goes to an obvious and yet somewhat unlikely source for help: Luthor. Or, what remains of his company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense. I don't know if it does.

"I hope you know we know how to handle this."

The words were condescending, like they were dripped down on his head from above. Dick wanted to shout that they had no clue, that they would likely end up killing his brother and many other people. But to shout at the current board of Lex Corp. would be to help doom them as well.

"That may be," he managed, the words like burrs dragged out of his throat, "but we would still prefer to equip our own with these weapons. People we can absolutely trust--"

The look on their faces, like he'd impuned their honor, made him add, "--to work well in the field. People who have worked with Superman and the others. And then the weapons would be returned."

"You have no right to be here, or imply that we have anything to hide," a blondish woman said, sharp gray suit matching her dour face.

"We have only standard weapons against superpowered threats," insisted a jet black haired man, his blunt nose seeming to twitch with effort of lying. 

"I don't think you understand the situation we're in," Dick said, trying to temper his tone. "Three Kryptonians on the loose. Nothing to stop them. If you were ever afraid of Superman going rogue, can you imagine him and two more?"

"Superboy isn't full Kryptonian," a pompous, large man interjected. 

"You are missing the point!" Dick didn't restrain himself enough to keep it from being a snap. Tim could be dying at this point, or about to die, and every second wasted was about five too many.

"If you hadn't locked up Lex, then this would hardly be a problem," the blondish woman stated.

His lungs were going to burn with the contained fury. He would suffocate on the anger. "There are lives at stake! And they're going to be yours if you don't help me!"

This brought looks of shock across their faces, and Dick realized he had definitely threatened them. If it worked, though. If it worked, he didn't care about the repercussions right now.

They were speechless, some looking utterly indignant. He had to press harder. "Batman knows how to kill in one strike. He just chooses not to. I'm his protege. Unlike him, I'm not so strong-willed when something else is more important. Are you going to give me access or not?"

The large man snuffled out, "If you're going to be that way. But don't expect anything but the blame for these weapons. Do you understand?"

He'd lied. Well, he hoped he was lying. "I understand. Now take me to them."

Most of them left the room, reminiscent of washing their hands of the whole affair. The clean board room was where they'd rather do their evil, where they could pretend it wasn't. The large man and the blondish woman, though, led him out, something stiff and impersonal to their postures in different measures.

Dick followed, skin feeling like it would crack. He was ready to fight anyone and anything, honestly. Anything to get Tim back alive.

He'd promised himself what happened to Jason would never, ever happen again. And he'd inadvertently promised Tim too, he thought, from the way he'd look out for his successor.

From the way he'd held him when he'd broken his leg and tried to insist he was fine. From the way he'd teased him about his suit for a big Gotham event. From the way he'd so firmly adopted him as his little brother and wanted to guard him from all the big hurts, and some of the small.

Tim was a good kid. Jason had been too. Nothing would save Tim if he didn't.

The blondish woman was the one to type in the code, though not before exchanging a glance with the large man. She pressed her thin lips together, and then the door swooshed open quietly. 

The room was surprisingly nondescript. Tannish walls, thin bluish-gray carpeting, a picture of a waterfall. 

"Kryptonite is expensive," the blondish woman stated, "and very rare. Our weapons aren't the cannons you're clearly thinking of."

The wall opened up, and the large man keyed in a code.

Then came out exactly three items on motorized trays.

One was what looked like a rather tiny gun. "Synthetic krypto-laser style firearm that mimics some of Kryptonite's effects. Not terribly effective and a nightmare to create."

The next was a ring, of sorts, with a very shiny silver center. "It doesn't really effect humans, but that's silver kryptonite. It will cause them to hallucinate."

And the last was a more traditional kryptonite blade-looking weapon, but the color of the kryptonite was...off. Weirdly infused between red and green like a nightmare Christmas. "This is a blade. It's kryptonite we've been developing to be...well, stronger. More effective."

Dick nodded slowly. "How likely would it be to kill them?"

"More likely than pure green," was the short answer he got from the blondish woman.

Both of them were watching him sharply, like they weren't sure if this was a good bet. They were probably calculating both the likeliness of this saving their lives and the boost it could give to their careers or images--or the destruction it could wreak. 

"I'll return them," Dick said tightly. He shouldn't, in so many ways, but he had to take these and use them, and if he could get them back without anyone knowing he'd used Luthor's stash. He would...he would probably put it in Batman's database. If Bruce survived.

If he and Barbara survived and he wasn't the sole person left on their team.

That idea was too unpleasant to really think on, so he took the items in a proper case, and nodded to them. "Don't breathe a word."

"We're happy to let you take any and all blame," came the flat response. 

The unspoken, 'We'll gladly take credit for success as well', convinced Dick that this would be okay. He could manage this.

Using something from Lex Luthor wasn't the worst thing. It was just...more gray.

What would be worse would be letting Tim die.

And with that thought, he took off into the night. Tim needed him.

Finding Superboy wouldn't be the hardest thing he'd ever done, he knew that much. Facing him down, however...that might prove fatal.

It was a risk he would have to take.

It was exactly that moment that his communicator beeped, and he looked at his screen, knowing the precise meaning of the sound: distress call.

Tim had managed to send him that. One that showed his exact location, and Dick's chest swelled with hope. With pride, immediately thinking, 'You did good, Tim. I'm coming for you, I promise.' He was alive, and Dick could follow that signal.

He hesitated, but instead of going alone, he sent a message to Wally. He couldn't afford to do this alone, but if he had to, he absolutely would. He was already on his way, waiting for a message to find out if he was rescuing Tim alone.

He would do whatever he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da? I was listening to Playing God by Paramore and was just struck with inspiration? Dunno, man. Let me know if there are plot holes, I've had some severe writers' block going on the past month or more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finds Tim. But will that be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote much of this after donating blood. I'm a little woozy. Hope it makes sense.

Dick really hoped Tim hadn’t been moved. The signal had cut out, not five minutes ago, and Wally still hadn’t responded.

He might be on the flight to get to where Superman and Batman and Batgirl were. It was a trip through dimensions, so if he was, Dick was definitely on his own. And as much as he wanted to get in, grab Tim, and run, it might not turn out that way if he wasn’t careful.

Even though his heart was beating in his throat, he waited. He didn’t want to get too close yet, didn’t want to give Conner the heads up if he could help it.

Finally, he received a message. ‘Omw’.

Wally was by his side not ten seconds later, looking at him seriously. “Hey. They have Robin in there?”

Dick nodded, keeping his voice low. His panic was definitely receding some with the arrival of his best friend. “I’m taking the window there in. You take the double doors. The objective is to retrieve Robin, and hopefully not have to engage Superboy.”

Wally patted his shoulder, hand lingering and trying very hard to impart comfort, “Gotcha. Anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah. Superboy won’t care about hurting you.”

“Okay. Let’s get Robin.”

Dick made his way there as silently as possible, even though he knew sneaking up was somewhat unlikely. Wally would be able to switch with him to either grab Tim or be a distraction, honestly, but Superboy was not going to be easy to get past.

The warehouse window wasn’t hard to get into, and the fact that this was a warehouse said Superboy might expect some kind of showdown. There was something theatrical in having an abandoned warehouse, at least in Dick’s opinion.

It was dark, but that was something easily remedied with the night setting on his mask.

He saw Superboy, who was sitting on a stack of crates, first. He was absently rolling something in his hand, maybe marbles or perhaps something more sinister. Dick hoped it was nothing important.

And the pale form of Tim wasn’t hard to make out. Hell, Dick might have been able to see it without night vision, the way it stood out. 

He was somewhat curled in on himself, but haphazardly, and Dick had to calm his rapidly beating heart, on the fear that Superboy might hear him.

He spotted Wally on the other side, ready to move. He gave a slight nod in return, and they sprung into action.

Superboy saw Wally first, and clearly identified him as the greater threat, roaring after him.

Dick managed to get all the way to Tim, fell down next to him. He double checked his neck, very quickly, and it was chilly but intact. He lifted Tim quickly, and had Tim ever seemed this small to him before?

It was like lifting a heavy rag doll. Tim didn’t move.

And he was still chilly to the touch.

Dick calmed his thumping heartbeat, told himself Tim had lost blood, and clearly consciousness, and raced for the exit.

Suddenly, Superboy was in his path, eyes blazing blue. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dick cradled Tim closer, and drew the Krypto-gun. “Let us leave.”

Superboy eyed the gun like it was a curiosity. He let out a sort of chuckle. “I see. You have a weapon you think can neutralize me. But can you fight me and hold on to him?”

And that was when Tim chose to come alive, bringing Dick both relief and terror. He let out the smallest moan, sounding almost like he was trying to say his name, and he could feel Tim’s body move a little, like he was trying to hold on.

One of his hands managed to shakily get a grip on Dick’s costume.

Where was Wally? Dick needed him now more than ever. 

Superboy took a menacing step towards him, and he found himself stepping back, knowing he couldn’t take that hit, and neither could Tim.

“You see the tapes?” Superboy’s voice was positively cruel. It was nothing like him, not the real Conner than Dick knew. “That must be why you’re here. If he’d just disappeared, you wouldn’t have come after him so fast.”

Dick wasn’t going to rise to the bait, but then, he had to stall. “I would have come no matter what, tapes or not.”

His voice was more choked than he realized, and he was suddenly fearful that Superboy was going to take advantage of his clearly emotional state.

“Would you? Funny, I seem to recall another Robin who disappeared without you busting in armed to the teeth,” Superboy said, and this was clearly an attempt on manipulation, because Superboy would never bring up Jason this way, would never--

Dick choked down the rage, the frantic feeling of needing to save Tim, to say, “Conner. You care about Robin, you care about all of us—why are you doing this?”

This made Superboy stop a moment, and then he smiled. “Because we’ve realized our true potential. Earth is meant to be a new Krypton. That’s why all three of us are here. That’s why we’re so much more powerful than any of you. We’ll begin a new era, as the rightful rulers of New Krypton.”

The smile looked like a slash on his face, nothing like Conner’s true, gentle smile. “Why attack Robin?”

Conner shrugged. “Might as well, right? Out with the old, in with the new, and you aren’t a bad place to start.”

Dick’s blood ran a little chilly at that. He’d meant to take him and Tim out. He’d meant to isolate them—because perhaps whatever had turned his brain had convinced him that the people most capable of taking them out were Batman and his team.

Maybe he was right. 

And Dick had definitely been baited here, but there was no way he would have avoided it anyway. Superboy, or whatever had taken him over, clearly knew that.

Where was Wally?

“You know he screamed for _you_ , right? He expected you to save him. Wonder if the other did too?” Superboy’s smile was the kind that made Dick just want to tear him apart.

Dick knew he was baiting him. Trying to get him to attack. And god, he wanted to. Conner knew exactly where to jab and strike to make it hurt the most. He could almost not imagine a more painful blow.

“Too bad this one’s going to as wrong to trust you as the last one.” Superboy flew forward, suddenly, fast, and Dick didn’t hesitate—he shot him, the laser striking three times before Dick had to roll out of the way, taking Tim with him and praying to god he didn’t aggravate his injuries—the choked, agonized noise that escaped Tim seemed to suggest he had.

But Conner was gasping, in pain, in surprise. “The hell was that?”

His skin was pale. He was trembling a little. “Wally!”

Wally evidently heard Dick’s cry, or maybe the timing was just amazing, because the streak of red and yellow that struck Superboy sent him flying into some crates.

As Wally skidded to a stop in front of him, he said, “Sorry, he threw me back to like Smallville or something, let’s get going!”

Dick hesitated for a moment, then handed Tim to Wally. He could trust him, even with Tim. “Go! I’m following!”

Wally definitely wasn’t going at his top speed. Dick followed, the sound of the crates crunching as Superboy struggled to get out of them in his ears.

They’d only just got out the door when Superboy smashed through it, rising up in the air behind them.

“We’re not done here!”

They definitely weren’t, and Dick knew he’d have to use the Kryptonite weapons again.

He wasn’t sure if he hoped he didn’t kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Let me know if anything's weird?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick faces off with Conner. It doesn't go like he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for implied/referenced rape.

Wally had Tim. Wally was also the most likely to be able to fight Conner. He was _also_ the most likely to be able to get Tim to safety.

Dick made a choice immediately that he hoped he didn’t regret. “Wally, get Tim out of here!”

“But Dick--”

_”Go!”_

And Wally went, of all things, like he understood that Dick would do almost anything to protect Tim. To make up for not saving Jason, to keep his word, to make sure his little brother lived.

“Not so fast--” Conner sneered, but Dick beat him to the punch, firing the Krypto-gun again.

“You’re dealing with me right now, not him!”

And Conner’s eyes narrowed, a burning, cold blue, as he said, “Fine. I’ll just go grab him when I’m done with you.”

Like hell that was happening. Dick gave a brief consideration to what weapons he would use and how, but for now, it was very much a play by ear and try to stay alive situation.

But Conner wasn’t attacking quite yet. “You know, he screamed for you _a lot._ More than for the Big Bat. I guess he was right that Bats doesn’t care as much, huh?”

Dick clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to reveal anything to Conner, his feelings or Batman’s status. But if Conner kept taunting, he wasn’t fighting Dick, and he wasn’t winning and going after Tim and Wally. Every second he could purchase for them counted.

“I bet this one cried more than the other. I bet the other also wasn’t smart enough to cry for you instead—though, didn’t you hate him?”

“No, I never hated him,” Dick snapped, even though he knew his level of affection had just never been as high for Jason as for Tim. And that wasn’t Jason’s fault—it was Dick’s. It was him equating a new Robin with Bruce replacing and betraying him and therefore distancing himself from Jason. Wasting time with the idea they were rivals or something.

He’d resented him for too long. Even when they started to become close, he’d wasted too much time.

His last good memory of Jason was sitting on top of a building after patrol and chowing down on burgers and fries and milkshakes, because hey, he was the big brother and big brothers snuck little brothers junk food.

He still remembered that grin on Jason’s face, the way he said, “Alfred’s going to straight up murder you.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Dick had insisted, settling back on the rooftop.

Jason had taken that as permission, or at least a way to blame Dick, and dug in.

Conner brought Dick back from that memory. “Well, I hope that thought comforts Timmy when I break his neck.”

A sort of raw anger and sickness settled in Dick’s throat, and it was all he could do to choke out, “You’re not going to hurt him ever again.”

“Why? Are you going to kill me? Because if you don’t, I don’t see how you’re going to enforce that.” The smirk was so out of place, just a shade from Conner’s normal smirkish look.

And Dick didn’t think he could kill Conner, even if he physically could. He couldn’t _murder_ , what would he be then? 

His silence was taken for confusion, as Conner laughed. “Didn’t realize you’d have to kill me to protect him, did you? I bet you dropped everything but that gun to find me when you figured out I had him.”

There was something weird in Conner’s eyes, the way they were looking at him intently.

Dick couldn’t put his finger on it. It made no sense. It was so focused on him, on his eyes, like he was trying to drive something home.

“I will kill you, if I have to,” Dick said slowly, unable to totally admit that to himself.

This was seemingly not the response that Conner had wanted. His jaw twitched, his eyes turned...turned almost _pleading_ , a flash that Dick was sure he had to have imagined as Conner’s grin turned viciously sharp.

“You know,” Conner continued on, voice like it hoped it was inflicting pain, like it wanted him to suffer, “Little baby robin there apparently thought he was going to die before he’d so much as made out with his girlfriend.”

Dick didn’t want to think on Stephanie right now, who was likely worried out of her mind, and he didn’t want to think where this might be heading. Where it _couldn’t_ be heading, because Tim had been through enough--

“But don’t worry, because I made sure he wouldn’t have to worry about dying inexperienced.” Conner’s leer was entirely out of place on his face, the look of some mad man. “He kept screaming for you to come, the entire time. You never did.”

Then the most smug, cruel look came across his face. “I did, though.”

And that snapped Nightwing’s self control. The kryptonite blade was out of its sheath before he could even think much about it, the red in his head seeming to fry his brain as thoughts of what Tim had been through flashed through his mind in a way he couldn’t shut out.

Conner laughed, and went to meet him head on.

The blade swung towards Conner's head, and Dick could already see him stumble a little. Good. Good, he deserved it, and a lot more.

Conner laughed again, and went to wrench Dick's arm off. His teeth were more bared than grinning, and his eyes were intense. He looked like the stuff of nightmares, the kind of thing that even Superman's worst enemies wouldn't imagine him to be.

Dick dodged, thank god, thank god, and managed to nick the arm. 

A shudder went through Conner, his arm spasming violently, and yet, he dove into his next attack with his entire body, screaming, "That all you have?! I fucked your brother and all you can do is papercut me?!"

Dick was seeing red, driving the sword through Conner. Into his shoulder, missing his heart but not his lung.

Conner was gasping, held up by the sword, and a wave of revulsion, of horror, nearly sent the strength out of Dick.

What had he done? Was Conner about to die?

Conner's eyes were unfocused, but they seemed to try to seek him anyway. "Good...good job. Took you...too long."

And Dick could have vomited right there. "Conner, what's going on? What's happening?"

Conner's eyes seemed to flicker, shutting and then opening. "It's...it's a thing...I don't know his name. It...it has us. Only...only when our powers work." His eyes flickered up to Dick. " _I'm sorry._ "

And Dick wanted to tell him it was okay, but he felt a little bit like he was the one dying. He wanted to console him. "Conner, it-it's gonna be okay, I swear, I'm going to call someone--"

"I'd rather...die than have...to live with that..." Conner told him. "No one controls me. No one...I don't want live with it."

"It wasn't your fault!" Dick said, feeling whatever composure he may have had just evaporate. Conner was his _friend_ , and it was mind control, clearly. "I'm calling the lanterns--"

"Nightwing..."

"No! You just--stay still." And Nightwing called in to the League, sending a distress call of the highest urgency.

It took too damn long, in his opinion, the emotions of anger and fear and loathing roiling in his chest and making him feel like he couldn't possibly vomit enough to get rid of it.

But finally, _finally_ , help came.

And Black Canary herded him away, telling him Wally had reached a hospital before he could even ask her. She wrapped a blanket around him, even as the scene of people working fast to save Superboy happened like lightning around them.

Dick didn't think Conner had the reason to want to not live anymore.

It was him. Even if Conner made it, how could _he_ want to anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I hope this isn't a hot mess.
> 
> As it is, life has been interesting and this has been a touch difficult to write. I hope it's satisfactory.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick tries to keep himself together and recover from the shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit interlude like.

It was like watching from the outside of a heart attack.

Dick wasn’t sure how else to describe it. He was in the hospital where both of them were contained, both Tim and Kon, and he had no idea how he wanted it to turn out. Obviously, he wanted both of them to live, but he was also terrified that the _thing_ would return. That Tim would really die this time.

Tim was...he wasn’t doing so well.

He was unconscious, and Dick was watching over him. His body was battered, no doubt about that, even if they’d cleaned off some of the blood and dirt. The gash on his cheek was the one that Dick was focused on at the moment, a sheer red against his grayish pale skin. His eyes were shut, black eyelashes like crow’s wings—eerily still and stiff. A tube was down his throat—it’d been reported to Dick that not long after Wally took Tim, he’d stopped breathing.

The doctors said his lung was collapsed, and the strain had been great. They’d managed to save him anyway, so far, as the stitches on his side showed. His chest rose and feel in a robotic, rhythmic manner, helped along by the devices he was hooked up to.

They’d only splinted his broken bones so far. It was too early to do a lot with that, Dick was told.

So now, Dick was looking at his little brother’s fingertips, two of which were both broken and missing fingernails, and he couldn’t feel much.

Not in a sociopath way. Just in a way that Dick would characterize as being like a bucket that got way too full and fell over instead.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he breathed out at Tim, wishing he could know if Tim was hearing him. The doctors had said there was brain damage likely, but they didn’t know how much. They couldn’t even assure him he’d wake up again.

The door swished open quietly. Dick heard it, knew he should look up and see who it was, but he didn’t. Maybe he hoped it was indeed someone here to harm him.

It wasn’t.

“Hey.”

Wally sat down quietly next to him. “That was...that was rough.”

It was an understatement, but Wally’s tone was very subdued. Like he was imagining who else could have been in this bed. Like he was remembering the trip he took to this ER, taking along Tim to the nearest place that could save him.

Dick couldn’t imagine having Tim dying in his arms. Mostly because he actually could imagine it, in his worst nightmares and now his living nightmare, and he didn’t want to. He pushed away the thought violently, focusing on watching Tim’s fingers.

“It’s not your fault,” Wally murmured.

And Dick had nothing to say to that, because how do you argue about how wrong someone is when you have no will to argue? It would be like trying to puff up a balloon with an asthmatic wheeze.

“Do they have Superman and Supergirl subdued?” Dick found himself asking.

“Um, not yet, but they say they’ve made contact with Batman and Batgirl. They’ve been sheltered by the aliens on the planet they were aiding—at least, for now,” Wally said, voice still softer than usual. “Batman says they’re in one piece.”

Dick could only nod at that. He couldn’t bring himself to feel joy or panic or anything at the news.

At least they were alive. At least they succeeded in keeping each other safe. Not like him, who’d let Tim come so close to death.

“Dick, I know you’re blaming yourself,” Wally said, like he was reading his mind, “but you really can’t. I mean, shit, who could’ve seen this coming? We’ve only now got the telepaths trying to figure out what’s going on, and--”

“I should’ve. I should’ve protected him,” Dick responded, voice too hot and heavy to be easy to force out of his throat. It was agony of sorts.

_”You did._ You did literally everything you could,” Wally said, a bit more sternly than Dick expected. “Robin’s a tough kid, and he can usually handle stuff himself. Just, not this time.”

That wasn’t comforting. Dick looked sharply back at Tim’s fingers, willing them to move.

Wally sighed. “I’m going to get you some tea. The coffee’s here’s somehow worse than tea, if you can believe it.”

Dick didn’t laugh, and he heard Wally leave the room.

He stared at Tim for what seemed like a long time. After a while, he kept thinking he saw him move, twitch, blink, _something_. But every time, it was just his imagination. 

He needed to focus.

Dick was turning the situation over in his head, even as he wanted to run from it screaming. If Conner was stopped by Kryptonite, if this _thing_ had its control ruined by Kryptonite, what did that make it? Was it affected by Conner’s half human nature? Did it have even better control over Superman and Supergirl?

And would Kryptonite work in the same way against them?

He got up, carefully pulling the sheet up further on Tim. He wanted him to be warm. 

He’d found minor relief in the doctor’s report of Tim’s injuries—Tim was battered to near death, that much was true, but Conner had lied. He’d defied its authority to say he’d raped Tim—he’d intentionally enraged Dick.

And again, Dick wondered what this meant, all while wondering what kind of control the thing had. If Conner could access his knowledge of Dick’s relationship with Tim, if he could trick the thing into thinking they were working towards the same goal, somehow—what did that mean for Superman and Supergirl?

Were they fighting it too?

Wally popped his head back in. “Superboy’s stabilized. They think he’s gonna live.”

He had a styrofoam cup in hand, which he gave to Dick. “Also, I hope you like Earl Grey.”

He was going to live. That released a knot in Dick’s chest he hadn’t quite acknowledged was so big. And seemed to tighten another. “They’ve made sure--” 

“He won’t get Robin,” Wally assured him.

Dick was silent a moment, torn. Then, finally, he said, “Can I see him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense.
> 
> I've been on a bit of an interlude, and life's been a bit interesting, but I think it's getting better. As it is, less nightmares, less panic attacks, less asthma attacks, make for decent living.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing sees Superboy in the hospital...and gets some insight on what was controlling his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's a shortish chapter.

Superboy looked like hell.

There was no putting it gently. His chest was stitched and closed up, yes, but his face was ashen, tinted red by the red solar lights above him. They weren’t going to take the chance that he’d get his powers back, after all.

They had more than one of the Justice Leaguers watching over him just in case, though.

Nightwing walked slowly across the room, and took a seat.

To his amazement, Conner’s eyes flickered open, and the blue settled on Dick. “Hey,” he managed to murmur. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nightwing insisted. He wanted to grab him, hold him, and at the same time, a wave of revulsion seemed to rise in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was at himself or Conner.

“Sort of,” Conner insisted. His eyes were quietly focused on the wall. 

Nightwing wasn’t sure he wanted an answer, but he asked, “’Sort of?’ What does that mean?”

Conner was quiet a moment. Finally, he spoke, voice wet and scratchy. “I’m not happy about what I did to...to Robin. I need you to know that.”

Nightwing nodded, not entirely trusting himself to speak. The image of Tim in the other room, so completely _still_ , wouldn’t allow him to assure Superboy. The knowledge that there was a chance Tim might never wake up furthered the knot in his throat.

Superboy’s eyes seemed to get more damp, as he explained, “It...the thing, it made it...feel good. It made it so that--”

“I get it,” Nightwing said too fast, even though he likely could have used more clarification. Honestly, though, the idea that Conner had enjoyed harming Tim in any way, especially to the extent he was hurt, made him want to vomit. The image of a sadistic Conner, enjoying Tim’s fear and pain, was forcing itself on his brain, and it made him feel ill.

The look on Conner’s face was sort of hurt, but still so full of guilt. “Thanks for shooting me. And stabbing me,” Conner said, voice very quiet.

Nightwing nodded, silent. 

It was still a thought he felt ill about.

It was about then that Miss Martian returned, her eyebrows rising a bit when she saw Nightwing. Dick felt it was fairly certain she did a quick checkover to make certain no one had harmed the other, and then she carefully handed the cup of ice to Conner. “Here.”

Conner said nothing, shifting an ice cube to his mouth.

She turned to Nightwing, as if sensing his discomfort. “I think you should know: Conner’s not a threat right now. I checked and double-checked; the control over him has been broken.”

Nightwing nodded. His eyes rested on Conner for a moment, and then he asked, “What is it? What was controlling him?”

Miss Martian’s mouth pursed a little, and she finally said, “Well, it’s definitely not what we were hoping. It seems it’s….sort of alien.”

“You’re an alien,” Dick pointed out.

Miss Martian sighed, saying, “Not like this. It…well, what we can dig up on it is that it was native to Krypton. It’s likely been seeking out Superman, Supergirl, and Superboy this entire time.”

“If it’s native, why would it do this?” Dick persisted. It didn’t make sense. This kind of violence and mind control, especially in large numbers, would never have been good for Kryptonian society. It seemed like it would be counter to any kind of peace.

“Well...from what we’ve gathered, the native, normal species that lived on Krypton was fairly harmless. It was small. It needed skin contact to...sort of leech feelings. It couldn’t do mind control or insert feelings. Well, other than happiness,” Miss Martian continued. “As far as we’ve been able to tell...it was developed as a treatment for depression and other mental illnesses.”

“How do you know?” Dick asked, eyeing Miss Martian.

“We...we have it,” Miss Martian said, eyeing Dick back, her tone very much a _don’t do anything stupid._ “The damage to Conner, plus the weakening effects of Kryptonite, made capturing it possible.”

“They opened me up too,” Conner explained, tone very tired.

“Where is it?” Dick hadn’t expected the words to come out so heated, or for the anger to suddenly, chokingly rise in his chest. 

Miss Martian’s eyes widened, as she held out her hands placatingly. “Nightwing, I don’t think you should see it yet. You might do something you regret.”

He almost growled at her, but he said, “If it chose to make him do this--”

“We’re not entirely certain why yet, and it’s possibly telepathically linked to the other two! Please, sit down!”

And a wave of odd calm came over Dick, forcing him to sit down. He found he couldn’t be angry with Miss Martian, even though he knew what she was doing. Conner, however, had no such issue.

“M’gann! Don’t fuck in his head!” 

The almost vicious anger seemed to startle Miss Martian, and she stopped calming Dick immediately. Her mouth opened and closed, and an almost tremulous, “I’m sorry...” came out.

Dick could feel angry now, but it was more subdued. He knew he should probably be angry with M’gann for trying to force him to be calm, for messing with his mind, and yet...he could see why she did. He did utter a stern, “Don’t do that again,” but the painful anger was not quite there anymore.

M’gann nodded silently. 

He took a moment, and he could see Conner was looking at _him_ in concern. Like he was the one more fucked over at the moment. Conner never ceased to surprise him.

“I’m fine.” No one seemed to challenge it, so Nightwing continued, “I would like to see it, though. I want to know how to stop it. I want—I want to know how to make sure it won’t harm anyone else.”

M’gann nodded slowly. “If you can be sure you won’t harm it...”

“Yes. I can manage that,” Nightwing responded.

“I’ll take you to it, then,” M’gann said softly. As they exited the room, she admitted, via telepathy, that they could use his help: most of their detectives were out of commission.

He knew she meant the other members of his team, of his _family._ He just nodded back.

And braced himself to meet the _thing_ that had precipitated such a brutal attack on his brother, and whose brethren continued to put Batman and Batgirl’s lives at risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter. I apologize for taking so long; I am very behind on all my fics.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The source of the mind control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat disturbing, but not more so than the rest of the story.

It was small.

That was the first thing that Dick registered. Too small to have destroyed Tim on its own. It made him feel a bit weirdly angry that it wouldn’t be enormous.

The thing was pinkish, a sort of calloused look to its skin. It had large, flapping extensions that it slapped against the walls of its cage; they sounded dry, like they were made of elephant skin or something similar. He could see a faint greenish glow in the areas its skin was thinnest.

It was definitely shorter than his forearm, though longer than his hand. It looked squishy.

This was it. The thing that had nearly killed his brother, and still might, if Tim didn’t make it. 

“Does it speak?” Dick asked softly, not trusting his voice beyond that. He was afraid he might start yelling at it, turning into a frothing, incomprehensible rage. He’d already done something like that before, when Tim was—well, when he seemed to have been murdered.

He choked down the hot rage seeming to well in his throat.

“It can communicate, yes,” M’Gann said softly, “But not with a voice. It’s sort of telepathic. I’ve been asking it questions, but it only has so much ability or desire to answer.”

It slapped another extension against the wall, like it didn’t even realize whose presence it was in. It made Dick’s stomach churn a little, not sure what he expected. It wouldn’t be apologetic, that was for certain.

“What do we know so far?” Dick managed, trying to drain the emotion out of his voice and throat.

M’Gann did him the courtesy of not looking at him with pity, answering, “So far, all we know is that they are mostly seeking survival. And since they feed on Kryptonians, their...mission, so far, seems to be to make Kryptonians the dominant species on this planet.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dick said, the words seeming to escape his mouth without permission. “It’s ridiculous. There are _three_ Kryptonians, how in _hell_ could they be the dominant species?! How the _hell_ \--”

M’Gann cut in, voice slightly raised but still on the gentle side. “It pulls from the knowledge and feelings of its hosts for plans, Dick. They saw Superboy was a clone, and, well...sort of figured from there.” Her eyes looked pained now. “He’s the most integral to their plans. We have to keep him from them, but we fear that Supergirl and Superman will be here soon enough.”

It still roiled in his gut. How in hell could Tim be nearly killed, could Batman and Batgirl be in such grave danger, for such a half-baked plan? There was no way this was even the best way to achieve their goal of continuing to feed on the Kryptonians. There was no way this was even that feasible—did they think they could mass-produce clones? Did they think they could hold off the entire goddamn Justice League while they figured it out?

There was always kidnapping people to do the cloning for them, but this violent outburst was stupid. Superman, Supergirl, and Superboy lacked the knowledge to do the cloning themselves. It made no sense.

“The way they work is more on feelings than thoughts,” M’Gann told him. 

“So they’re irrational,” Dick said bitterly.

“No, they’re _manipulative_ ,” M’Gann said, looking at him seriously. “It was doing everything it could to make Superboy want to do what he did. It was...I can only describe it as a sort of half mind control, half emotional manipulation sort of thing. It will whisper whatever feelings it can to them to get them to do it.” She pursed her lips a moment, and then said, “Conner tricked it. He tricked it into continuing to feed the anger and believing he was still accomplishing its goals.”

Dick nodded stiffly. That would explain why Conner continued to bait him, and if he had to guess, he’d say the Kryptonite helped him break free of its control.

“The problem with how he did it is that Conner is only half-Kryptonian,” M’Gann said, and it was like a weight in Dick’s stomach when the implication hit, “It was his human half that allowed him to fool it, to manipulate it back. Superman and Supergirl, however, are likely completely powerless against it, even with Kryptonite entered into the equation.”

That was bad. That was extremely bad. That meant there was no reasoning with them, not even the extent that Conner had been able to be reasoned with. There was no getting through.

He turned his gaze back to the thing. “What are we going to do with it?”

“We’re trying to figure out how to link with it telepathically and take control, but...it’s dangerous,” M’Gann said. “J’onn is working on figuring out mental shields against it at this moment. In the meantime...we’re afraid that Supergirl, if not Superman as well, will show up to reclaim it.

The red-tinted light in the room was more than enough proof that they were doing what they could to dampen its abilities, but Dick still couldn’t help but feel a shudder.

“I’m going to go check on Tim,” he finally said, turning around to leave that thing where it was. 

It slapped against its wall again, and an urge to smash it, to see it squished against the floor, struggling for life, seemed to rise up like a foaming tidal wave in Dick’s chest. He swallowed hard, and left the room.

He hoped the thing died, even if it couldn’t be killed now, and he ignored the voice of Bruce in the back of his head murmuring that they didn’t kill and it would warp him. He ignored the feeling nagging at the back of his brain, and instead, gave in to the feeling welling up in his chest.

Tim was still as a statue when he returned, and still as broken in appearance. Wally silently left the room as Dick came in, and Dick very carefully held Tim’s few unbroken fingers, feeling the chill of them, and crying. 

If Tim didn’t make it, he didn’t think he would either.

–

It was several hours later that he got the news: there was something moving very quickly towards them from space, and they had every reason to believe things had gone very wrong on the mission.

They had every reason to believe Superman was coming, and he was coming for Conner and for the thing.

And Nightwing knew they couldn’t allow it to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short and that it took me so long. I've been having painful hands and wrists since rather unwisely using very cheap spray paint for my shelves and then straining the muscles further playing sports. DX It was bad.
> 
> I hope this is satisfactory!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting hours are closed.

Superman was on his way, and there was no stopping him. 

Dick knew there was a nurse in Tim’s room, but he was struck by terror that Superman would kill him. That all it would take was a simple hit into the building and something falling onto Tim, or something else going wrong. His brother was _intubated_ , for god’s sake, he was not in a state to either fight back or protect himself. 

He only realized he’d frozen when Wally’s warm hand on his shoulder brought him out of it, and he could see his best friend looking seriously at him.

“Dick. I said, you stay here with Tim, I’ll help fend off Superman,” Wally was saying. 

“Okay,” Dick’s mouth tasted like cotton, and he nodded. He found himself unable to offer much more than that.

Wally nodded back, and sped off. 

It was then that Tim chose to wake up.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, and the heart rate monitor started to pick up. The nurse was at his side faster than Dick was, explaining to him that he had a tube down his throat but he was okay.

“Tim,” Dick breathed softly, a sort of hope seeming to blossom tentatively in his chest. 

Tim seemed somewhat confused by the tube, but wasn’t choking, which was good. Instead, his blue eyes were looking hazily up at Dick. The tape on his face pinched his cheeks a bit when he tried to squint his eyes a bit, and Dick was struck with the urge to hold him. His arms were trembling a bit, he realized, as he said,

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

His chest still rhythmically rose and fell. Dick was told he’d had a collapsed lung, among other issues. In some ways, Dick was impressed that Tim seemed very calm right now. In others, he realized Tim must have been on a lot of morphine.

There was a shudder through the hospital about then, and Dick’s panic must have shown on his face, because Tim’s heart rate was rapidly picking up and he was trying to breathe faster than he actually could. 

Dick smoothed out his face as fast as possible, instead leaning in to stroke Tim’s hair. “It’s okay,” he repeated, “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s okay. You’re okay, I promise.”

The nurse, a middle aged woman with a kind face, was looking out towards where the shudder seemed to have come from. She turned back to Tim, double checking the machines and perhaps administering more morphine, Dick wasn’t sure.

“Honey, you’re all right,” she promised Tim, “Your big brother’s here and we’re going to take good care of you.”

Tim’s eyes were getting shiny, Dick realized, and his face was turning pinkish. His heart rate was still faster than it had been. 

He continued gently stroking his hair, praying that he wouldn’t have to leave him to defend him. Praying that he would simply be left alone.

The others had the kryptonite weapons. They had a much better shot at taking down Superman than he did. If Superman really wanted it, Nightwing would be dead in an instant, and Dick knew that. He also knew the man was near incorruptible, and so he hoped that Superman was fighting back as hard as Superboy had.

He doubted it, though. 

Miss Martian had said that partial humanity was what helped Superboy fight. And Superman was all Kryptonian. He only could pray that they would make it out alive.

The whole building shuddered again, the lights flickering. 

It made him angry that Tim was in danger again, and that there was so little he could do to stop it. But he couldn’t show that, or else it might frighten Tim more. He carefully held Tim’s two unbroken fingers, the others in splints at this point, and kissed his forehead.

“It’ll be okay,” he insisted.

And goddamn it, if he ever got the opportunity to make _that thing_ pay, he would. He would make it suffer. 

He realized, however, that Tim seemed to be drifting off. He looked over to the nurse, and she nodded at him. “He’s all right.”

She’d clearly given him more medicine, and Dick didn’t know whether to be grateful or not as Tim’s eyes slowly closed again. It didn’t seem quite like the same sleep as before, or, more accurately, it seemed more like sleep than a coma. He felt Tim’s fingers tighten momentarily around his, then relax.

Now, he turned to look towards the door. 

No one had come through it yet, but that didn’t mean they were safe. It didn’t mean Superman was any more turned back than he had been.

Dick wouldn’t strictly describe himself as a praying person, but in that moment, in some ways, he could only feel a sort of prayer rise in him for his friends and allies to turn back Superman. To take him down, hopefully, or to stop the mind control.

Suddenly, it was quiet. An uncomfortable quiet that had Dick’s skin start crawling, and he drew out his escrima, not sure what he would do, but knowing he’d rather go down protecting Tim than not even trying.

He thought he heard something in the hallway, and he could see the nurse behind him had paled, tense, still beside the bed as he inched forward a bit.

It sounded like the flap of fabric.

And then the door blew open, and a floating figure with a flapping red cape sent ice into Dick’s veins.

From Superman’s hand dangled Batman, _Bruce_ , his head clenched in the hand like some child’s doll. He wasn’t moving, and much of his costume was gone, as was his belt. His mouth was slack; his eyes weren’t open.

Dick remembered to keep his stance as he looked up at Superman.

The man’s eyes were icy blue, seemingly tinted red. He was looking down on Dick, and he said, voice very soft, “All of you are very resourceful, aren’t you?”

Bruce was set on the floor with a whump, and had it been any other case, Dick would have rushed forward. But he had the instinct that if he went forward, it would all be over.

“You could say that,” Dick replied, ignoring the lump in his throat.

“Please, don’t refuse a compliment. It’s one of the few that your kind has ever deserved,” came the response, all too cold and plastic for Superman, for _Clark_. But Dick already knew he wasn’t dealing with his friend.

“Then thanks,” Dick said, “It’s not every day I get a compliment from a brain-manipulating monster.”

There was a laugh. It was all wrong, nearly robotic and too deep for Superman. 

“You have been very funny for a long time. If you weren’t so resourceful, I’d be glad to keep you alive,” came the words, and it was almost a punch to the gut. It was like Superman was actually in there and _agreeing_ with the thing, like he was chortling along with the thing. Like he had somehow not really changed and had known Nightwing for years.

“Please,” Dick finally breathed out, “I only want to protect--”

“Your kind are of no concern to me,” Superman continued, “And I would be very glad to grant you that broken brat if it weren’t for what you’ve already done, and what I _know_ he’s capable of. Conner doesn’t shut up about him or you, you know.”

It was hard to breathe, in some ways. 

“All the bats must go. I apologize, but I will make it painless for _you_ , if it helps.”

“No, it doesn’t help,” Dick growled back. 

Superman gave him the kind of pitying look one would give a very dumb dog. “You had to realize that someday, those with abilities, those of near god-like qualities, would overcome your very simple race. If not immediately, then at least in the future.”

“No, I didn’t _have_ to know,” Dick snapped back, “Because you’re a good person, because you’re all good people, and if it weren’t for that _parasite_ , you’d never do this!”

This caused Superman’s face to harden, but Dick wasn’t finished.

“Face it, the only ones with greater power here are the actual Kryptonians, not you, you goddamn parasite! You’re just piggybacking your way to power!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dick,” Clark said, brow darkening. “But since you clearly stand in my way, there’s only one solution--”

That was about when a blur knocked Superman out of the room, something red, white and blue.

Dick had never been so relieved to see Wonder Woman in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I got any medical details wrong! I do my best, but I only know so much.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Benedict Arnold had fairly valid reasons for switching over, but I thought that'd be just obscure enough for their code to be intact. :) And Ra is the Ancient Egyptian sun god.


End file.
